


RvB Fluff War Collection

by autisticblueteam



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Character(s), F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, RvB Fluff Week, carwash siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6495283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autisticblueteam/pseuds/autisticblueteam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all the prompts I received during the first RvB Fluff War over on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tingling (MaineWash)

**Author's Note:**

> So back in February (I think?) there was the fluff war over on tumblr, and I got sent in a grand total of 15 different prompts! They've been sitting on my tumblr with blank AO3 links for a while, so this is me finally getting around to uploading them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington insists that he's fine after a mission, but Maine knows him better than to miss the signs that he's tense. And Maine knows just how to help him relax.

Washington swung the door of his locker shut, sighing quietly at himself for jumping slightly at the noise it made. He could feel his body tingling, still overrun by the adrenaline from the mission he and his partner had just returned from. It had been a success, but missions were always draining, no matter their outcome. This one was no exception.

“You okay?”

Maine’s shadow loomed above him, and with the hint of a smile on his lips Wash turned around to face them. He leant back against the locker, having to tilt his head back to look up to Maine’s face. They raised a thick brow, their arms folded.

Wash gave a nod, “Yeah. I’m okay. Just coming down from the adrenaline rush. I’m good.”

Maine didn’t drop their brow, “Sure?”

“I’m sure,” Maine still didn’t look convinced, folding their arms tighter. At that Wash rolled his eyes, folding his arms in return, “Two can play at that game, Maine. I’m fine. I’m just buzzing from the adrenaline! It’s no different than after any other mission.”

“Lip.”

Wash blinked. Lip? What were they going on about now?

“Uh… You’re gonna have to be more specific than that Maine.”

“Bleeding.”

Wash’s tongue flicked out to his lip instinctively. _Oh_. He’d chewed his lip and hadn’t even noticed. Huh. Well, that made Maine’s insistence make more sense.

“Oh, right,” Wash chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “It’s an unconscious thing, I’m− whoa!”

Suddenly Wash was being dragged by his wrists, towards the benches opposite. He instinctively tried to dig his heels into the floor, but Maine was _much_ stronger than he was, even though they weren’t being particularly forceful. In fact they were being rather gentle, considering their brute strength. Even when the pair reached the benches they simply turned around; sat on the bench; and pulled Wash’s hands to rest on top of their head.

When Wash realised what they were doing, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“You big softie. You could’ve just _told_ me, you know that? Instead of dragging me across the room.”

Maine let out a rumbling sound that Wash could only take as a dismissal. He rolled his eyes at them, but his hands began to move even despite the larger agent’s antics.

The effect was instantaneous.

Wash felt his nerves light up as the prickly sensation tickled the skin of his hands, immediately spreading through the rest of his body. It replaced the tingling of adrenaline with a much more subdued tingling sensation that made all of his muscles relax and a soft sigh escape his lips.

Before long the sigh was followed by a soft purring sound, a sound that around any of his other teammates would have Washington clamping his mouth shut in an instant. It was different with Maine, though. Maine wouldn’t tease him.

His hands made broad circling motions, moving in sync with each other and covering every inch of Maine’s shaved head. His palms began to go numb after a while, but he could still feel the tickling sensation of their stubble and so he continued. A low, continuous purr that only broke for breath was now coming from the rookie freelancer, making his chest vibrate pleasantly and only adding to the positive sensations running through him.

He barely even registered that he’d closed his eyes, until he felt Maine’s head move under his hands and there was the sensation of a hand on his jaw.

At that he opened his eyes, his hands coming to a gradual stop. Maine was looking him in the face, though not the eyes, with their hand cupped under his jaw. Their thumb then brushed over Wash’s split lip, any stinging it would have caused dulled by the positive buzz in his nerves, and wiped away the blood. Then it retreated back to his jaw, holding Wash’s head in place gently.

Maine didn’t exactly have to stretch far, even sitting down, to lean towards Wash’s face. They _especially_ didn’t have to stretch far when Wash was leaning right back towards them.

The touch of their lips was gentle. Maine wasn’t being forceful, and they left plenty of leeway for Wash to pull away at any moment. He was far from pulling away, however; the hands atop Maine’s head slowly dropped down to lace together at the base of their skull, which only pulled Maine closer. His eyes were closed again. His lips were tingling in the same way his hands had been only moments before.

When Maine pulled away, more for air than anything else, they looked up at Wash in silence. Wash looked back, his fingers still laced behind their head, and for a moment they were quiet.

Then Wash’s lips formed a mischievous smile, and pulling the hood of Maine’s hoodie up and then over their face, he turned and began to run.

“Race you back to the bunk!”

Maine chuckled under their breath, pulling the hood off and standing up. Oblivious as ever.


	2. Home (Kimballina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-War, Carolina comes home after a long day and indulges in a little relaxation trick she hasn’t allowed herself in a long time.

She bumped the door closed behind her, stepping on her heels so she could kick off her shoes as she turned and locked it. She shrugged her coat off, throwing it lazily onto the shoe rack, and let her shoulders slump. She let out a breath and walked deeper into the apartment, fussing with the button on her jeans. They were soon discarded just as lazily as her coat, as was her blouse, as was her hair tie. By the time she made it to the bedroom she was clad only in her underwear, her hair falling loose around her shoulders.

Carolina stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a moment, just stretching her toes out in the fibres of the carpet beneath her feet and looking around. Catching sight of what she was searching for she walked over to the bed, picking up the old aqua blanket piled messily at the footboard and wrapping it around her shoulders.

She let out a content hum, crossing her arms over her chest to pull the blanket tight around her. As old as it was it was soft and it was warm, a comforting weight around her shoulders. Revelling in the sensation of the soft material against her skin she closed her eyes, burying the balls of her feet into the carpet, and then she began to spin.

At first it was slowly. She twisted her upper body back and forth, rotating at the waist and letting the blanket spin around her. It tickled her sides, leaving the slightest gust of air in its wake, and the motion was familiar. Bit by bit she allowed more of her body to move, until finally she was spinning in full circles around and around, her blanket flying through the air.

Her feet tingled from the friction with the carpet. Her nerves were alight. Her body felt pleasantly warm. She felt as light as a feather as she spun around and around, moving around the room without even thinking about it. She felt freer than she had in a long, long time. Even when her feet began to go numb, and her head was beginning to spin, she didn’t stop. It had been much too long to stop for anything so trivial.

She didn’t know how long it had been when she finally began to wind down, spinning slower and slower until she came to a stop. The blanket fell slack around her, she could barely feel the bottoms of her feet, and when she opened her eyes she became immediately aware of someone standing in the doorway.

Kimball’s face was lit up with a smile that reached her eyes. There were crow’s feet at their corners, now, and she was still much too young for them. Her arms were folded under her chest.

“Hey,” She said, her smile widening slightly. Carolina smiled back.

“Hey… How long have you been standing there exactly?”

Kimball shrugged, “A little while. I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve never seen you do that before.”

“Really?” Carolina thought back. In all her time on Chorus, in all her time with Kimball, had she really not allowed herself this? She supposed not. She supposed she hadn’t felt right enough, “Well… Do you think it’s weird?”

“Not at all,” Kimball walked over to her, grasping the blanket and pulling her closer, “You looked very happy, that’s not something that will ever be weird to me.”

Carolina was embarrassed to feel her cheeks warm up, surely meaning she was now blushing. Kimball simply chuckled at the sight, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips. Carolina leant into the kiss with a smile, and wrapped her arms around Kimball’s shoulders, encompassing her within her blanket.


	3. It's Just Me (Lolix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix shows Locus that it's okay to show that they're happy.

Locus did, believe it or not, sometimes have work to do that didn’t require Felix’s presence. Paperwork that Felix didn’t care to deal with; working on maintenance of their guns; and so on. However that didn’t mean that Felix wasn’t present anyway. Felix had never exactly been the kind of person who only hung around when he was _required_ , after all.

And so Felix would often be found lounging around near Locus as they worked on one of their aforementioned tasks. Locus neither dismissed nor explicitly acknowledged him at times like these, usually focused on their work, but that wasn’t for lack of Felix trying. Felix would whine about being bored, or ask Locus what they were doing, only to get very nonchalant answers in return. He wasn’t _pushy_ , but he wasn’t subtle either. Locus was used to it by now, and it was almost odd when Felix wasn’t there.

Today they were working over a contract for a job. Felix was lounging around behind them, draped over a seat playing with one of his knives and making comments every now and again. Locus remained as quiet as usual; the sooner they finished their work, the sooner the two could simply curl up together, after all. Felix wouldn’t be complaining when the work was done.

In fact Locus was almost finished when they heard Felix get to his feet behind them. It wasn’t more than a few seconds later that his arms wrapped around their shoulders, and his head rested against the back of theirs.

“Locussss I’m _bored_. Pay attention to me.”

“Felix, I’m working.”

“Then _stop_.”

Locus didn’t reply, and Felix huffed. The pressure on the back of Locus’ head went away, and for a moment they expected Felix to let go completely and simply go back to laying around, but his arms stayed put. Locus raised a brow, turning their head slightly with every intention of looking at their partner, only to feel a pair of lips against their cheek instead.

Kisses of all kinds from Felix weren’t uncommon, far from it in fact, but Locus was still caught off guard. They were so caught off guard, in fact, that they reacted instinctively to the positive attention. Their hands began to flap.

Felix’s face was immediately split by a grin, “Oh my fucking god.”

Locus finally registered what they were doing, and stopped, “Ah. Felix−”

“Why’d you _stop_? God, Locus, you’re such a worrier,” Felix said, and even Locus could practically hear the eye roll that accompanied that tone. He kissed their cheek again, and once again caught off guard Locus began to flap. Felix grinned against their cheek, kissing it again, “It’s just me.”

It was just Felix, that’s right.

They let themself flap.

Felix’s grin widened, and he immediately began to give Locus more cheek kisses that only made the mercenary flap more. With every kiss Locus’ flapping grew more natural, less stunted and restrained. Felix’s grin could only get bigger; Locus could only start to laugh a low laugh.

Locus didn’t stop flapping until after Felix had stopped. Felix didn’t stop until Locus told him to. Locus didn’t tell him to for a long time.


	4. Smooth (Grimmons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif likes to feel the cold, smooth metal of Simmons' metal arm. Simmons doesn't particularly mind.

“Mm. Simmons?”

“Mmhm.”

“Hey, Simmons?”

“Grif, I’m trying to _sleep_.”

“Can you feel this?”

Simmons groaned quietly, begrudgingly opened his eyes and looking to Grif, “What?”

“This,” Grif said, tracing his finger down the smooth metal of Simmons’ metal arm, “Can you feel that?”

“What? No, I can’t. Sarge’s technology back in Blood Gulch was rather rudimentary, there was no way he could provide me with feeling. I’d have to get artificial skin for that to work,” Simmons said, breaking into a yawn mid-sentence, “Also, you’ve definitely asked me that before.”

“Okay, good. You can go back to sleep now,” Grif traced his finger back up the smooth metal, resting his head on Simmons’ other shoulder. Simmons huffed, his arm wrapped around Grif.

“Well now you’ve woken me up I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep!”

“Well that’s hardly my problem,” Grif said with a shrug, tracing the finger over the curve of Simmons’ shoulder. He saw Simmons’ face grow a flustered red, and grinned. When Simmons caught sight of the grin he huffed again, looking away but holding Grif closer anyway, “I guess you’ll just have to stay awake.”

Simmons didn’t reply to that, and Grif just chuckled. He turned his attention back to Simmons’ robotic arm, focusing on the feeling of the cool, smooth metal against his skin. It was a quiet night by Armonia’s standards, and it was easy to tune out the noise that remained and simply focus on that feeling. It sent a pleasant charge through him, across his skin and along his nerves, and he let out a soft sigh as he buried his head against his boyfriend’s freckled shoulder.

As time went on Grif began to caress the metal limb with his whole hand, rather than just a finger. Running his palm down the glossy surface, down to his forearm and to his hand, the sensation only growing stronger. It was familiar, after all he’d done this many a lazy night – and yes, he’d definitely asked Simmons that question before. It was just another thing that made them them. He chuckled under his breath at that.

Slowly he relaxed, running his hand back and forth up and down Simmons’ arm. He closed his eyes and let the feeling flow through him, . With his eyes closed it was only that much easier to focus on the sensations, and only that much easier to relax.

When he felt himself begin to dose he took a hold of his hand, linking his fingers with Simmons’ and brushing his thumb over his. Simmons gave his hand a squeeze in return. Grif was smiling as he drifted off. Simmons was trying to pretend he wasn’t.


	5. Comedy (Yorkalina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they enter the old bar, Carolina wonders why she let York convince her to join him during Shore Leave. She's still wondering when the terrible jokes start.

“Ta-da!”

Carolina blinked, her arms folded under her chest, “ _York_. Why are we standing in front of what looks like the scuzziest bar this side of the galaxy?”

“Oh come on,” York said, giving her a look as he folded his own arms, “That’s an exaggeration and you know it.”

“Not by much.”

“It’s _fine_ , I promise. It’s no Club Errera, but it’s a nice−” (“That’s subjective”) “−place to sit down, have a drink, and just relax for a little while!” York continued undeterred, giving her a smile, “Come on, we’re on shore leave.”

“I know we are. And we could be spending it _much_ better places than here,” Carolina retorted, her face flat. York kept smiling at her, with a wide, goofy grin, until she had to look away to hide a smile of her own, “Fine, but you owe me after this.”

York’s grin somehow got wider, “I’ll owe you _if_ , and only if, you don’t enjoy yourself. Come on!”

Carolina rolled her eyes, letting him lead her inside by her wrist. The atmosphere of the bar hit them immediately as they walked through the door; there was chatter and music, with someone’s voice booming over a microphone, and the air was hot and heavy. Carolina sighed slightly, not that she could be heard over the noise, but followed York across to the bar anyway.

It was a little quieter there, and a little less humid with the coolers behind the bar. She slid onto one of the bar stools, York taking the stool next to her, and looked around the rest of the room as York ordered them drinks. The people didn’t look that bad. Everyone seemed to simply be having a good time, drinking and chatting and watching what appeared to be another patron standing on the stage doing some kind of talk.

“Guess it must be open mic night,” York commented, drawing Carolina’s attention back to him. He smiled, offering her her drink, “Here you go.”

She took it with a smile of her own, “Thanks. So, not only have you dragged me to the bar in the backend of nowhere, we’re also going to have to deal with drunk people telling jokes.”

“All a part of the experience,” York said. Carolina rolled her eyes again, knocking her bottle against his when he offered and taking a swig, “We can leave if you’re uncomfortable you know.”

Carolina bit her cheek, but shook her head, “No, I’m fine.”

York beamed at that, and Carolina couldn’t help but chuckle. To his credit, it was easy to forget that they were in a crowded bar once they started to drink and chat. She found herself relaxing in no time, laughing at some of York’s signature ridiculous stories and responding with some light-hearted teasing. By the time she’d made it through her first drink, most of her tenseness had faded.

“Hey, buy yourself another drink, I’m gonna go do something real quick okay? Be right back,” York said, all in one breath, as he dropped some money on the bar and kissed her forehead. Carolina raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth to ask what he was doing, but he’d already hopped off his barstool and disappeared.

She frowned a little but shook it off, turning back to the bar and ordering herself another drink. She thought nothing of York’s disappearance for a while, drinking her drink and humming along to the music, until a familiar voice came booming from the microphone.

“−ridiculous name, I know. Anyway this is for the red head at the bar.”

Carolina turned around in an instant, greeted by the site of York standing up on the stage behind the mic with a grin on his face. He gave her a wink, and her eyes widened.

“York−”

She expected York’s terrible singing to be the next thing she heard, but what actually happened was much worse. He started telling jokes.

“What’s the difference between bird flu and swine flu?” He said, that grin still on his face. There was an almost eerie silence in the room, “If you have bird flu, you need tweetment. If you have swine flu, you need oinkment.”

Groans filled the silence. Carolina could feel the embarrassment in her very soul, and the urge to go up onto that stage and physically drag the infuriating man away was _strong_ , but instead she began to _laugh_.

Apparently that was all the encouragement York needed to keep going.

“What did the fisherman say to the card magician? Pick a cod, any cod!”

The groans returned with a vengeance. Carolina began to laugh harder.

York looked positively ecstatic, “What’s stucco? What happens when you step in bubblegummo.”

“A rubber band pistol was confiscated from algebra class. Why? Because it was a weapon of math disruption.”

“What do you get when you cross an elephant with a bird? A gulp. It’s like a swallow, only bigger.”

These were the worst jokes Carolina had ever heard. They were worse than most of York’s other typical jokes. Everyone in the room was groaning, and more than half of them had started to boo. And yet Carolina _couldn’t stop laughing_.

Her sides were beginning to hurt. Her head was in her hands. Her cheeks were red from everyone looking at her, drawn by her ridiculous laughter. She had tears in her eyes. She’d never been so embarrassed in her life.

And yet she _couldn’t stop laughing_. The energy buzzing through her was exhilarating; she’d be bouncing on her toes if she was on her feet. It was just as amazing as it was embarrassing, and it was only when York came out with−

“Why didn’t the skeleton go to the party? He had no body to go with.”

−and the boos from the crowd began to sound violent, that she could force herself out of her stool and rescue him from his impending doom.

They burst out of the bar, both laughing and all but knocking the other over as they scrambled to leave.

“York _what were you thinking_?” Carolina got out between laughs, wiping her eyes and struggling to catch her breath. Now on her feet she was definitely bouncing on her toes, which only added to her buzz, “Those people were one more bad joke away from murder. _Murder_ , York.”

“Oh god, what kind of death would that be? No dramatic death in battle for this soldier, cause of death: bad jokes,” York laughed in return, covering his mouth in a vain attempt to stop, “However, he did make a pretty girl laugh!”

That got him a smack in the arm. He never stopped smiling though, and neither did she.

“Shut up,” She still couldn’t help but laugh, shoving him playfully, “That was so embarrassing!”

“You loved it.”

“That’s besides the point!”

York slung an arm around her shoulder, tugging her close to his side. She half-heartedly struggled, following as he started to walk.

“Come on, I’ll buy you something nice on the way back to make up for it.”

“You spent most of our money on drinks. You cannot afford to buy me ‘something nice.’”

“Well, okay. Steal you something nice.”

Carolina laughed again, elbowing him in the side and freeing herself from his hold. She stayed close though, “You know I can’t officially sanction that, right?”

York just grinned, “I know.”

Carolina rolled her eyes, shoving him playfully again and simply shaking her head.


	6. Farm (Docnut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nearly dying, Donut is up and about, and determined to help Doc work on their little farm.

The sun was beating down as harshly as ever on Valhalla Outpost Number One. Not that it had anything on the scorching heat of Blood Gulch, which had been relentless and unforgiving, but it was still hot. Hot enough, at least, that Doc found himself wiping his brow on more than one occasion. Even with his undersuit pulled down to hang around his waist, and wearing a standard purple tank top, he was sweating like nobody’s business.

He’d considered simply going back inside several times, but he always ended up coming back to the fact that: “Well, the farm isn’t going to tend itself!”

So he persevered, tending to the blooming crops that were coming along wonderfully. He went down to the waterfall for water; removed any invading weeds; and had just begun to collect some of the produce that looked ready for eating when he heard footsteps behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, “Donut, you’re meant to be resting.”

Donut was smiling as he walked over, waving a dismissive hand at the other solider, “I’m _done_ resting, Frank. I’m _fine_! I want to help!”

Doc frowned, looking at the bandages peeking out from under Donut’s pink shirt where he’d tied it up at the front. He was walking fine now, and honestly the bandages were more of a precaution than anything else at this point, but that didn’t mean he should be pushing himself.

“Donut−”

And then the pink soldier pulled his best puppy dog eyes, and Doc’s already fragile resolve crumbled.

“−come and help me collect these lettuces.”

“Oh yay!” Donut was at his side in seconds, kissing his cheek and squeezing him around his shoulders, “You know I love it when you let me get my hands dirty!”

Doc paused, blinking, but Donut went straight to work. Doc kept meaning to ask his boyfriend if he actually _meant_ the things he said to sound the way they did, but he’d never quite found a way to broach the subject. There was always the chance Donut was completely unaware of what he was saying, and that he’d stop if Doc pointed it out, but… it was something so intrinsically _Donut_ that Doc wasn’t sure he wanted that.

“The farm sure is coming along well!”

Doc looked up to see Donut smiling over at him, a lettuce in his hands. He smiled back, and nodded

“Yeah, it is. See, I told you becoming self-sustainable was a good idea,” He said, putting the produce he picked into an old box he’d found in Red Base, “Now we have all the food we need! We can sit tight here until someone comes back, without having to worry at all!”

“We sure can! And Scarecrow Lopez will keep our crops safe and sound!”

They slipped into a comfortable silence, working on their farm in the sweltering heat and with the shadow of the _slightly_ terrifying Scarecrow Lopez hovering over them. As much as Doc wished Donut had stayed in bed for his own sake, he was enjoying the quiet companionship. Donut always had a very uplifting air about him, just another thing that made Donut, well, Donut. So it was nice to have him around. For various reasons.

When the work was done the two headed back inside, Doc struggling with the full box but insisting that Donut let him handle it. Their little makeshift home, tacked onto the side of red base, provided shelter from the heat. Both let out a sigh of relief when they ducked inside, and Doc was quick to dump the box on the makeshift table.

“Whew! A good day’s work,” He said proudly, hands on his hips.

“By both of us,” Donut added. Doc glanced back, smiling awkwardly.

“Yeah, by both of us.”

“See! I’m _fine_!” Donut walked over to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist, “All it took was a little T-L-C and I am right as rain! You’re such a _worrier_ , Frank!”

Doc laughed under his breath, wrapping his arms around him in return, “Yeah I guess I am. Sorry. I’ll let you work on the farm with me properly now.”

“Good!” Donut pecked him on the lips, then beamed, “Come on, let’s snuggle up!”

There was probably more work to be done. The stuff they’d gathered today would need to be looked over, washed, that sort of thing, but…

Well Doc wasn’t exactly going to turn down his boyfriend’s offer, either.


	7. Simple (Lolix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix's little pockets aren't just for knives.

So, the little extra pockets on the front of Felix’s armour. You’d think they were for holding his throwing knives, now wouldn’t you? Well, you wouldn’t be _completely_ wrong. There were definitely knives in there, but that wasn’t all. See, being partners with Locus, Felix had picked up a few little helpful bits and pieces along the way. Things that helped to subdue or reassure Locus when things didn’t exactly go their way, or in various other situations.

And no, it’s nothing _sinister_. Think less stabbing, more stimming.

…It’s fidget toys. A collection of various little knickknacks they’d picked up over the years, either by chance or by choice, that helped Locus to wind down and focus on something else. Keep their hands occupied, or their mind occupied, or just make them feel good. That sort of thing. And what better place to keep them than those very pockets? Easy to access, _plenty_ big enough for a few trinkets even alongside his knives; they were absolutely perfect for the job.

Now Felix didn’t make a huge deal out of this little collection of his. Locus knew about it, of course they did, but it wasn’t something he brought up in casual conversation. No, he didn’t talk about it, but he damn well knew when to make use of it.

For instance…

A client says something that gets under Locus’ skin during a contract negotiation. It’s an offhand comment, clearly meant to offend but to offend casually so that he couldn’t be called out on it. Felix can see Locus tense up out of the corner of his eye, and can see their heart rate spike on their vitals display on his HUD. Now the client doesn’t notice these signs, the client has no reason to be paying attention to Locus’ subtle body language; Felix, however, doesn’t care that he doesn’t notice. He still made the mistake of messing with Locus.

Within seconds Felix is standing in front of Locus, lightning fast reflexes letting him pull out a knife and a string of beads with the same motion. The beads are in Locus’ hand as quickly as Felix began to toss his knife, stepping into the client’s space.

“ _What_ did you just say, _sir_?”

With Felix’s body blocking the client’s view of Locus’ hands, Locus is able to play with the beads without being noticed. Felix sees their heartrate fall back to a more normal level within moments. By the time he’s finished threatening the client, Locus is ready to add in a few comments of their own. With the beads still tucked firmly inside their fist, of course.

You know, moments like that.

A crocheted stress ball handed discreetly behind their backs after a long day, when Locus doesn’t have the energy left to deal with their latest client. Locus becoming almost immediately less tense, and the client no longer side-eyeing them.

A tangle toy dropped onto their desk in front of them as they work on a contract, but can’t keep still long enough to really focus on it. Locus twisting it back and forth and all around, keeping their hands occupied so that their mind can work over whatever their issue is.

A toy designed for endless popping, or an old pocket sized green slinky, tossed to them after a successful mission that still left them drained. Locus being able to relax, let the buzz of the mission die down, let the buzz be replaced by whatever enjoyment they got from that thing.

Felix didn’t particularly _understand_ , per say, but he didn’t _need_ to. He didn’t need to understand because he didn’t care why Locus needed these things, no, just that they _did_. That was all the justification he needed, the only reason he had for that little collection of bits and bobs that had no real value to anyone but Locus. If Locus needed those things to get by, then Locus would get those things.

It was really just that simple.


	8. Ridiculous (Yorkalina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was absolutely bucketing it down, and for some reason York was not only excited himself, but absolutely _determined_ to get Carolina to join him.

“Come on, Carolina!”

“York, you are not making me come out there.”

York grinned out at her from underneath his hood, looking ridiculous stood out in the pouring rain with it held tight around his head. He was absolutely drenched from head to toe, and he hadn’t been standing there for more than a minute. It was absolutely bucketing it down, and for some reason York was not only excited himself, but absolutely _determined_ to get Carolina to join him.

“Come on, don’t leave me standing out here looking like an ass!” He said, waving for her to follow his lead.

Carolina remained underneath the walkway, and more importantly, remained dry, “At least you know that you look like an ass. It’s always better to be honest with yourself.”

“Oh ha ha, you’re very funny−”

“I try.”

“−but seriously Carolina, come on! You have a coat! Come and have some fun!” He was still grinning as he waved his hand again, despite the fact his hair was plastered to his face and despite the fact he looked like a drowned animal.

“I repeat: You are not making me come out there,” Carolina folded her arms tighter, and gave him her best stern look. He retorted with his best attempt at a puppy dog look. She tried to keep up her stern look after that, but York was just as persevering. She found herself having to look away and bite her lip so as not to smile or laugh at the face he was making, determined not to show any weakness.

That façade fell away the moment she turned and saw York with his hands clasped and fluttering his eyelashes. She burst out laughing, covering her mouth and starting to bounce on her toes.

“God dammit York.”

York’s shit-eating grin told her that he knew that he’d won before she even pulled up her hood. That and the way he held out his hand towards her, and dramatically bowed.

“May I?”

Carolina rolled her eyes and muffled a laugh. She cursed as she ducked out into the rain – _fuck_ that was cold – and took his hand, unable to stop her laugh as he pulled her close.

“Just as a warning, I can’t dance,” He said, wrapping his free arm loosely around her waist, “So I’m probably going to step on your toes.”

Carolina shrugged, “It won’t be any different than usual then.”

York blinked. Carolina tried not to laugh, “Wow. I set myself up for that didn’t I?”

“Just a little bit.”

And then he was coaxing her into some attempt at dancing. They were all over the place, moving everywhere but where they were trying to go and spinning around and around, all the time getting absolutely soaked through by the rain. Carolina knew she should feel uncomfortable, she should be shivering and wanting to get back into the warm and dry, but instead she was laughing and buzzing.

She knew they must look ridiculous, but she didn’t care. Let people think what they want, just for today.


	9. Team Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As annoying as they can be, Sarge knows exactly how to look after his boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: Sarge and Grif are both autistic in this fic, Simmons has anxiety, and Donut is deaf in one ear.

It just wasn’t a morning in Red Base without Sarge’s voice booming through the concrete halls, rousing his men from their sleep, and probably rousing Blue Team at the same time. Every morning, at 0700 hours on the dot, the Reds found themselves awoken by Sarge’s latest wake up call. It got more creative every morning, and to this day the three privates under his command could say that they’d never heard the same one twice.

Today was no different. Grif refusing to get out of bed; Simmons being up and ready for breakfast before Sarge had even finished his call; Donut singing, a little louder than he likely intended to, as he got ready; it was all just part of an average Red Team morning. That was the way Sarge liked it. No surprises and no antics he wasn’t already _extremely_ familiar with. His team was hard enough to put up with as it is, without them upping and changing all the damn time. So he was thankful for the little things.

“Simmons! Is that coffee made with the regulation amount of coffee granules?” He said, appearing behind Simmons almost as if out of nowhere. Simmons jumped spluttered, almost spilling his coffee in the process.

“Yes sir!”

Sarge gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder, “Good man! Now hurry up and drink that there coffee and get your ass into your armour, ya hear?”

“Yes sir!”

Sarge gave a gruff grunt and a nod, clapping him on the shoulder twice and walking away. He glanced back as he did, smiling to himself with another nod as he saw him down his medication and his coffee. He looked away again before Simmons noticed. If he realised that he hadn’t left his medication out the night before like he was meant to, and yet found it there anyway, he didn’t say anything.

Donut was having a conversation with Lopez. Or, more accurately, Donut was _trying_ to have a conversation with Lopez. Lopez was much more focused on fixing up some piece of equipment Sarge had ordered fixed, and whatever Donut thought he was responding to probably wasn’t what he thought it was. He sure didn’t hear Sarge approaching, not that he expected him to, and so Sarge gave him a light tap on the shoulder to get his attention.

Donut spun around, and grinned, “Oh _hey_ Sarge! Sorry, I was so absorbed in Lopez and I’s chat I didn’t hear you!”

“Lo conversación? Yo estaba hablando con la tostadora.”

Sarge shook his head, “You’re taking first look out today, Donut, so you better hurry up and go an’ get your armour on! Those _dirty blues_ won’t watch themselves, y’know!”

“Yes _sir_! Bye Lopez, talk to you later!”

“Si debes.”

“Now c’mon quit your chit-chattin’ and get movin’!” Sarge said, chuckling under his breath as Donut replied with another ‘yes sir!’ and ran off, “Damn have I gotta try make that kid a hearing aid that works outsida his helmet.”

“Que sea traducir Español. Espera, no, no lo hacen.”

“Yeah you’re right Lopez, I should go check that Grif is moving his ass! Keep up the good work!” And with that he turned and left, leaving Lopez to simply sigh and keep working on fixing the toaster.

Sarge found Grif lazing on the tattered old red sofa in the communal area, stuffing his face as he always was and therefore _definitely_ not moving his ass.

“ _Grif_! What in god’s name do you think you’re doing? Get off your ass and get in your goddamn armour!”

Grif scoffed, “I’m eating. I’ll get in my armour later.”

“ _Grif_.”

Grif shoved another Oreo in his mouth. Sarge grumbled.

“You and those goddamn Oreos! Fine! I’ve gotta do the orders for our supplies today, and if your ass isn’t in armour by the time I’m done, _no Oreos_.”

Grif waved a dismissive hand, still partially waking up and much more interested in his food than Sarge’s usual threats. Sarge grumbled more loudly as he walked out of the room, plenty loud enough to get the point across, but then stopped as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Damn boy and his Oreos. Couldn’t have some _normal_ comfort food like MREs, nope! Had to be Oreos. The strings I have to pull with command, I swear to _god_ …”


	10. Leader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another day training the Lieutenants, Wash gets a little recognition.

Palomo leapt out around the corner, gun aimed wildly, “Freeze!”

The Pirates looked back at him, pausing for a moment, then all raised their guns and fired. Palomo lowered his gun, his eyes widening.

“Shit−”

And then he was thrown back as the Pirates’ shots all made their mark, absolutely riddling the lieutenant and sending him to the ground with a thud and a groan. There were gasps, the other three lieutenants appearing around the corner just as Palomo hit the floor, and then−

“Alright that’s enough!”

There was a unified sigh of relief and an immediate burst of chatter. The ‘Pirates’ pulled their helmets off to reveal youthful Chorusian soldiers, and Palomo let out a whine from where he laid on the floor covered in splashes of paint.

“It’s too late for me. Tell my wife I love her.”

“Palomo, the training session is over!” Jensen said, looking down at him. Bitters walked over just to give him a light kick in the side, coaxing him to sit up, “And you don’t _have_ a wife!”

“Way to go running out in front of the enemy soldiers _alone_ , dipshit,” Bitters added, earning himself a middle finger.

“I had it all under control!”

“The paint you’re covered in would suggest otherwise, Palomo,” Smith said, shrugging. Palomo grumbled.

“Alright you four, that’s enough.”

The four all turned at once to look towards Washington, walking up to them from where he’d been observing nearby. Smith was quick to salute, Jensen looking between him and Washington before copying the gesture. Bitters folded his arms and just waited, whilst Palomo looked up from the floor and waved.

Wash sighed, “Palomo, get up off the floor.”

“Oh, right.”

He scrambled to his feet, with a little help from Smith, and the four stood in front of Washington expectantly.

“The others are right, Palomo,” He said after a moment. He could almost _hear_ Palomo pouting inside his helmet, “By going on ahead of your team and jumping out you put yourself in danger. Yelling ‘freeze’ doesn’t actually have any effect on your opponents, especially if you don’t already have the advantage.”

Palomo mumbled, apparently forgetting their active comms, “It works in the _movies_.”

Wash felt himself smile and had to suppress a chuckle, “Alright Lieutenants, let’s get back to the locker room and get your armour removed and cleaned. You did well today, until the end at least.”

There were various replies of ‘yes sir!’ as they started to walk, with Wash at the head of the group. Not long after they began to move he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, and shook his head.

“Smith, you don’t need to raise your hand. What is it?”

“Will you be giving our usual performance reviews?” Smith asked, dropping his hand. Wash glanced back over his shoulder.

“Yes I will, as soon as we get back.”

“I think Palomo can consider his covered,” Bitters said.

Palomo huffed, “Oh shut up.”

Wash had to muffle another chuckle.

The locker rooms that the New Republic soldiers had been designated weren’t far from the simulation sector of the training facilities. The lieutenants had their own set of four lockers in one section of the room, surrounded by those of their other squadmates, so that was where they came to a stop. These locker rooms were some of the oldest in the complex, but seeing as they were still much better than what they had had back at their old base of operations, no one really complained.

Jensen did flinch a bit when her locker door made a horrible creaking sound, however, and Wash really couldn’t blame her.

“Alright,” Wash said, pulling off his helmet, “You did very well out there today, and I’m being honest when I say that. But I’m training you, and I do need to tell you when you make mistakes. Like with Palomo back at the testing facility.”

“I still say that was a good strategy.”

The corner of Wash’s lips twitched, “ _Only_ in the movies, Palomo.”

“It’s okay Wash! You’re helping us get better. Our Captains did the same. Well, they tried to? Sometimes,” Jensen shrugged. She sat down on one of the benches and began to clean her armour of paint splashes, some that had come from shots deflecting off of others, but one or two that had been direct hits, “Captain Simmons usually only got out a ‘Good Job!’ before he uh, ran off.”

“Captain Caboose gave very informative post-mission talks,” Smith said thoughtfully, sitting down. He hadn’t got any paint on his armour, so he’d simply been able to put it away.

“Dude, he once told you that you need to have more sneakers,” Bitters said, scrubbing at the paint on his armour, “Damn paint.”

“He probably meant that Smith should be ‘sneakier’, Bitters,” Wash said, scratching the back of his head, “He gets his words mixed up sometimes.”

“Like me!” Jensen piped in. Wash chuckled, nodding.

“Yes Jensen, like you,” He coughed, “Anyway… Palomo, your main mistake was that last decision. Before that, you were actually doing rather well. You took out several enemy soldiers undetected, but you simply got too cocky towards the end. If you’d kept with your team, I fully believe you all could have taken down those last few Pirates and completed your objective.”

Palomo grinned, “Awesome!”

“You still have to work on not getting overconfident, alright?” Wash gave him a stern look, and Palomo nodded, “Alright, Bitters, you were great at infiltration. Apparently Grif’s raids on the canteen back at your old base did teach you something. You need to work on deciding when firing shots is worth it, and avoiding shots, but otherwise you did great today.”

“Cool,” Bitters said, still scrubbing away at the paint on his armour, “Fucking _paint_.”

Wash shook his head with a smile, looking to the remaining two team members, “Smith, you did very well. You’re the only one here without any hits on you. You do great under orders, but you also knew when to take charge, so uh… well done!”

Smith nodded with a proud smile.

“And Jensen, you followed all of your directives perfectly,” Wash said finally. Jensen’s face lit up, “You only got hit because you’re somewhat uncoordinated, which can be worked around. Otherwise it’s simply basic improvements which can be sorted out just with routine practice.”

“Thank you Agent Washington,” Jensen said, her face still lit up, “We wouldn’t be doing _nearly_ so well if not for you!”

“Jensen is right. You’re a very gifted leader, Washington,” Smith added with a nod, “You have done a lot for our skill level since you took over our training.”

Wash blinked, “I… Thank you. I’m not technically your _leader_ , I mean…”

“Closest we got,” Bitters shrugged, “Besides Kimball. Or our Captains, but well, you know them. Nah, you’re a good leader Wash.”

“Don’t let Grif know you said that, he’ll think you’re turning into a kiss ass,” Palomo said. Bitters shrugged, “But yeah. You’re good, Wash! Even when you’re telling us off or something.”

“I…” Wash scratched the back of his head, an awkward smile breaking out on his face. He felt himself begin to wiggle, and for a moment he was ready to force himself to stop, when Jensen gasped and beamed.

“Oh we made you happy!” Her hands flapped in front of her, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

Wash chuckled awkwardly, but realising none of the lieutenants were looking at him weirdly, he simply let himself wiggle. A leader, huh. He guessed he’d had that title for a while, but nevertheless it was… nice to be told. And as long as he was doing right by these kids, then he’d keep it up.


	11. Motherhood (Kimballina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-War. Carolina often finds herself unable to sleep at night, and when this happens there’s nothing she finds more reassuring than seeing that little girl bundled up in her blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't not give the link to the art that inspired this, so [here it is!](http://vlasdygoth.tumblr.com/post/140780566546/dont-ask-me-why-but-earlier-this-week-i#notes)

It was three in the morning when Carolina finally resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to fall asleep.

She let out a quiet sigh, kissing the top of Kimball’s head and carefully slipping out of her embrace. Kimball mumbled something incoherent in her sleep, to which Carolina simply shushed her quietly and tucked her in. The mumbling stopped, and the retired general curled into a ball underneath the blankets.

Carolina smiled at that.

She knew her way through the halls of their home like the back of her hand. She’d learned how to navigate them in the dark out of necessity, to feel in control of her surroundings. It was useful on nights like these; turning on the lights would wake Kimball, and she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to disturb her equally fragile sleep for anything.

Instead she walked through to the room at the end of the hall. She pushed the door open carefully, stepping into a room alight with projected stars. Closing the door behind her just as carefully, she made her way across the room to the far wall and her destination: the crib that was sat against it.

Carolina’s expression was fond as she stepped forward, resting her hands on the top bar of the crib and peering inside. There lay a little girl, little more than a year old, with her thumb tucked inside her mouth and her arms wrapped around an aqua coloured teddy bear. Her head was surrounded by a halo of natural hair, and she was sleeping peacefully underneath her favourite blanket.

She was safe. Carolina felt herself relax almost instantly, the tension fading from her muscles, and she leant her weight against her arms. She watched the little girl’s breathing; heard the quiet noises she made in her sleep; saw the way her little hands flexed and her little legs kicked about as she squirmed. She could feel a warmth in her chest at the sight, finding herself simultaneously starting to bounce on her toes and having to wipe her eyes.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when she saw her begin to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, and she made this little noise she always made when she woke up. Those big green eyes flickered to Carolina, and her face lit up with recognition.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Carolina whispered, pushing down the side of the crib and reaching in. The little girl cooed as she was picked up, her thumb still tucked into her mouth, and nuzzled against Carolina’s chest, “I’m sorry sweetheart.”

The little girl cooed again, reaching up with her free hand to pat the side of Carolina’s face. Carolina laughed quietly at that, catching her hand and kissing the palm.

“Hey. Don’t you start hitting people, your mummy will blame me,” She joked, kissing the top of her head. She let out a sleepy giggle, and Carolina smiled. She held the girl closer, head rested against the top of hers, and slowly began to rotate her upper body back and forth.

The little girl immediately perked up, her thumb dropping in favour of tugging on her mother’s shirt, “Mommy!”

Carolina beamed, rotating back and forth repeatedly. Her daughter bounced in her arms, snuggled close to her and making happy noises as she spun. Soon Carolina began to spin in full circles, her feet brushing through the carpet and her hair flying everywhere. The little girl squeaked in delight, bouncing excitedly. Carolina’s chest was warm, her body buzzing, and the smile on her face only growing brighter.

“Mm, I –” a yawn, “−not invited to this little stimming party?”

Carolina turned to face the door, beginning to bounce on her toes as a substitute for her spinning, “Vanessa, sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Kimball shook her head, rubbing her eyes and walking over. She was hugging her dressing gown around herself, and she was only half awake, but she instantly smiled at the sight of their daughter peering from Carolina’s arms.

“Hi there Allison. What’re you doing awake?”

“I was just watching her,” Carolina said, kissing the top of her head. Kimball stepped close enough to wrap her arms around them both, “I just wanted to see that she was safe. She woke up on her own.”

Kimball didn’t comment on how ridiculous it was to worry if Allison was safe, in the middle of the night in the safest neighbourhood in the city. Carolina knew she didn’t comment because she felt the same ridiculous fear, every time the little girl was out of their sight.

“Alright,” She said, kissing Carolina’s forehead. She looked back to Allison, “We should really get you back off to sleep, sweetheart. I promise you and Mommy will have plenty of time to dance around tomorrow.”

As if on cue, Allison yawned. Kimball laughed quietly, and Carolina smiled.

Carolina settled Allison more comfortably in her arms, her head tucked against her shoulder and her legs over her opposite arm, and slowly rocked from side to side. It wasn’t the same spinning that set both of them off, buzzing with energy; instead Allison began to relax, her eyes slowly closing and her thumb returning to her mouth. When she began to make those same little noises that she’d been making in her sleep before, Carolina slipped her into Kimball’s arms.

Kimball kissed her head, then carefully laid her down in her crib once again. She draped her blankets over her, tucking her in, and made sure that little aqua bear was safe in her arms. Carolina’s arms wrapped around her from behind, the weight of her head against her shoulder, and she laced a hand into her hair.

“She’s alright.”

Carolina’s voice was muffled by Kimball’s shoulder, “I love her so much, Vanessa.”

“I know, me too,” Kimball replied, leaning back against her, “Come on, let’s go back to bed. I love you.”

“I love you too… Can… Can we stay and watch her for just a little longer…?”

“Definitely.”


	12. Important (MaineWash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding private places to go on the Mother of Invention isn't easy. But every pair has their nook; Maine and Wash are no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sign Translations](http://autisticblueteam.tumblr.com/private/140868457572/tumblr_o3w3xf0Qyo1umch04)

It was hard to find places you could go undisturbed on the _Mother of Invention_. Whilst the ship may be the size of a small city, it was densely populated by workers of all ranks. Simple maintenance workers; low-rank soldiers; the mercenary class freelancers; the top bracket themselves… Combined, they made the ship feel just as bustling as a city, too. Which of course also meant that there was hardly anywhere that wasn’t occupied by someone; even secret spots were often known by multiple people, and so you could never guarantee no one would find you.

So if you found a new hiding spot, one that you _knew_ no one else knew about, you kept it to yourself. Or, in the case of some of the more notable duos, between the two of you.

Maine and Wash had made sure to do just that with their latest hiding place. Where was it? Well, that would destroy the whole point, wouldn’t it?

Wash sighed, turning and sitting down on the floor besides Maine with his legs crossed. He slumped back against the larger agent’s side with a colossal huff, ignoring the way he felt his muscles protest. Maine glanced at him as they handed him a beer, raising a brow.

Wash took it, opening it and taking a swig, “South takes no prisoners.”

Maine grunted with a nod, ruffling Wash’s hair. He pulled a face, elbowing them in the side.

“I’m going to have bruises on my bruises,” He said, taking another swig of his drink. Maine chuckled, earning themself another playful elbow, and drank some of their own, “How’s your day been?”

They shrugged, holding their hand up flat and twisting it from side to side. They held up both hands, the index and thumbs extended and pointing forward, then raised their hands back towards their chest, bending their index finger into a curve. They followed this sign by curving their hand into the shape of a ‘C’. Finally they raised their arms, bent so their hands were just above their shoulders, and, with their index finger curled over their thumb with the rest of their hand in a fist, moved their hands in two quick rotations.

“Oooh, that’s where you were,” Wash said, “I did wonder. How’d that go?”

Maine chuckled, laying their hands out flat facing upwards and lifting them to be level with the top of their head. They then laid out hand flat, palm down, and laid the other atop it in the same way before moving the latter upwards. A finger pointed at their own chest finished their statement.

Wash grinned, “Wow. You jealous?”

Maine shrugged.

“Ha,” Wash slumped against them again, taking another drink, “Gotta wonder what on earth she’d be doing if she wasn’t in the military. Actually, gotta wonder what _most_ of us would be doing if we weren’t in the military. What would _you_ be doing, Isaac?” A pause, “Also where did you get this beer? This is the good kind. There’s no _way_ you had enough credits left to pay Niner to smuggle this in for you.”

Maine’s face split with a smirk. They curled their hand into a fist, and raised it to their forehead. Wash immediately started to laugh, though he tried to muffle it behind his hand.

“York is going to be _pissed_. Also, you have _got_ to change your sign for him. Carolina and I keep having to try not to laugh whenever you sign for York!” He said, still trying not to laugh. They _did_ make sure to only use their personal signs during informal situations, but even so! York was definitely beginning to get suspicious.

Maine didn’t care. Maine just chuckled.

They raised their hands, index fingers extended and pointing upwards, the height of their hands uneven; they then bent their wrists so that their index fingers pointed forwards. Then with one hand, index still extended, they made a question mark in the air. They touched the tips of their flat fingers to their forehead and then twisted their hand to face forward. Then they fisted their hands, placing one on their chest and the other diagonally down from it, tapping them against their body twice. Finally, they extended their index fingers and thumbs, and then moved their hands from mid-abdomen to mid-chest.

Wash nodded, “Makes sense. It’s the same for me, I guess, I mean… I was a military kid from the start. Then as soon as I was old enough I signed up. I wanted to make a difference, y’know? I wanted to help the cause. It’s the whole reason I’m here at the project. Well…” he paused, biting the inside of his cheek, “Part of the reason.”

Maine chose that moment to muss up his hair again, and Washington scrunched up his face.

“Rude.”

Maine chuckled, then with a more curious expression, signed again. They made a closing motion with the first two fingers and thumb of their one hand, then pointed their index finger against the front of their head, only to move it up and away whilst curling it inwards.

“Not really? I was into history, I guess. Suppose I sort of still am, too. But it was always gonna be the military for me,” Wash shrugged. Then he smiled, taking another swig of his beer and elbowing Maine in the side, “Besides, if I hadn’t joined the military I wouldn’t be here right now, would I? And then I wouldn’t have met you, big guy. But I did, so now you’re stuck with my autistic ass for the foreseeable future.”

At that Maine started to laugh, that wonderfully deep sound that hit Wash straight in the chest every time, wrapping their arm around Wash to hold him closer. He started to laugh too when Maine messed up his hair yet _again_ and pulled him close to their chest, playfully shoving them before ‘resigning’ to his fate.

“Okay so I’m going to take that as you being fine with that horrible truth.”

That earned him another hair ruffling. Wash laughed, then tilted his head as Maine signed once again. They pointed at Wash, and then they met their thumbs and index fingers in circles, their other fingers bent at a loose curve, moving them in a semi-circle from lower to upper chest. Finally they pointed at themself.

Wash was pretty sure he let out one of his cat noises. Okay, no, he was definitely sure.

“You’re important to me too, big guy,” He said, leaning his head against their shoulder. Maine held him tightly, and he relaxed in the familiar hold with a smile on his face and a purr rumbling in his chest.


	13. Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Church siblings will always know how to cheer the other up, no matter how much changes.

Carolina hummed an upbeat tune as she walked up to her front door, a slight skip still in her step and her backpack slung over her shoulder. She stuck her tongue out as she dug her hand into her jean pocket for the key, fumbling to unlock the door when she finally pulled it out. She stepped in, closing the door behind her, and looked into the home over her shoulder whilst locking it.

“I’m home!”

There was no immediate reply, so Carolina kicked her shoes off into the corner by the door and dumped her bag beside them. She spun in loose circles across the wooden flooring that covered the hallway, peering into the adjoining rooms until she found what she was looking for: A young, blonde boy sitting on the sofa with a stuffed cat in his lap.

“David, there you are!”

David looked up, his eyes red and puffy, “Oh, hi sis.”

Carolina’s form straightened in an instant, her brow furrowing and her lips pursing. She was in front of him before another word could be uttered, crouched down and grasping the edges of the cushion he sat on.

“What happened? Why’ve you been crying? Is it that Cecil boy again? I’m going to punch him! I’m gonna punch him in his smug little−” Wash’s eyes widened as she spoke, and the sheer alarm in them struck even her. So she stopped herself, “What did he say? What did he say to you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” David mumbled, looking down. Carolina didn’t try to make him look at her, but she did frown. She wouldn’t push, but she knew what it usually was. His ears, which stuck out a little too far. The way he flapped his hands, seen as weird by everyone who didn’t understand. Their family situation.

She wanted to punch that Cecil boy into next week. She wasn’t sure that that was physically possible, but she knew if _anyone_ could do it then it was her. She had a very strong punch, her mother had−

Anyway.

Either way, David had been crying. Talking about it wasn’t going to make him feel any better. How else could she make him feel better? Oh she was _no good_ at this stuff! She was just about ready to give up, looking around the room for some kind of inspiration, when it struck her: Little kids loved pillow forts, right?

(Of course _she_ didn’t love them, no, that would be ridiculous! She was twelve now. She wasn’t a kid.)

“Go get our blankets from our rooms.”

David sniffled, tilting his head, “Huh?”

“Go get our blankets from our rooms. Go on!” She kissed the top of his head, then pulled him up by his hand and gave him a light shove, “Pillow fort time.”

David’s eyes lit up. He gave an excited nod, and ran out of the room. Carolina heard a thud from the hallway, followed by a quick ‘I’m fine!’ and the sound of someone running up the stairs. She giggled.

With her brother going to collect supplies, she looked back to the sofa where he had left his stuffed cat. Was that one Skyler? She’s pretty sure that one’s Skyler. Either way, she made sure to pick it up carefully and place it on the coffee table where it wouldn’t get in the way.

David returned with their blankets a couple of minutes later. They were trailing behind him, draped over his shoulders and his head and making him look rather ridiculous. Carolina couldn’t help but giggle as she was helping him get them all off. He could only pout back as he was freed from the tangle of material.

And then they got to work.

The sofa cushions made for perfect supports for the blankets to be draped over. They also made perfect weapons for the pillow fight that lasted a good ten minutes, delaying their fort building significantly. As did David tripping over one of the blankets, and making the whole thing fall down. But, disruptions or not, the pillow for was soon complete!

“It’s awesome! Oh let’s get in!”

“Don’t forget Skyler.”

“Oh right!”

They clambered into the pillow fort, laughing the whole time as they pushed and shoved playfully, stopping and collapsing in the central chamber. David was beaming, his eyes still red and puffy but now full of energy again, and he immediately set about wrapping himself up in one of the blankets lining the floor. He made sure Skyler’s head was poking out. Carolina beamed and joined him.

Mission: Successful.

* * *

 

Mission: Failure.

Carolina would have slammed the door to her room behind her if she could of. Instead she had to settle for slamming her fist against the locking mechanism, cursing as she stormed across the room. Her nerves were alight with pain; her head was throbbing; she was an absolute mess. Nothing she ever did was enough for him. Especially when she couldn’t stop _failing_.

“Carolina?” A voice rang out from behind her door. Carolina gritted her teeth.

“Go _away_!”

“Sis, it’s just me!”

Her teeth gritted harder, and she opened the door to grab her brother by his collar and drag him inside, if only to say: “Keep it down! No one’s supposed to know!”

The door slid shut behind them, and Washington scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Uh, sorry. I know.”

“Good. Now go away.”

“Carolina, I just wanted to check on you. What did he say?” The knowing look in his eyes was almost as painful as the words she’d heard minutes before. She tore her eyes away, “Let me help you, Carolina…”

“I don’t _need_ help.”

Wash didn’t reply. She glanced back at him, and saw the way his brows were knitted, and the look in his eye that was now stubborn. She may not be particularly good at this body language thing, or at reading people, but she knew her brother’s mannerisms like the back of her hand.

“Wash.”

“Sit down. Chew your tank chew. I’ll be right back.”

“What−?”

He was out of the door before she even finished the final syllable. She frowned at that, wondering what he was doing and why he thought she'd even let him back into the room, but nevertheless she did pick up her chew and take a seat. She told herself that was her plan anyway, never mind the fact that she left the door open.

Washington returned a couple of minutes later with what looked like the blankets and pillows from both his bed and Maine’s. Carolina’s eyes widened, the sight of her little brother swamped by blankets _much_ too familiar, and was on her feet before he’d even managed to get the door shut.

“Wash…”

“We’re building a pillow fort.”

“Agent Washington we are trained soldiers in a top secret military project and we are−”

“−building a pillow fort,” Wash interrupted, finally getting the door closed and dumping the collection of sheets and pillows on the floor. Carolina blinked, looking at them, “Come on. It’s happening whether you agree or not.”

“I can carry you out of this room.”

“You won’t though.”

He was right. Of course he was right. So she let out a sigh, and picked up one of the pillows.

Washington’s face lit up.

It was a lot harder to build a pillow fort with six pillows and a few thin regulation sheets than it was with the materials they had as kids, but somehow they managed it. The area around Carolina’s bed was turned into a little safe haven, away from the rest of the ship even though it was separated by nothing but those thin regulation sheets. It barely even looked big enough for the two grown soldiers to fit inside, but somehow they managed it, and so there they sat.

There was a beat of silence, then Washington spoke, “You feeling any better?”

Carolina smiled, despite herself, and nodded, “Slightly.”

Wash’s face split into a grin, and Carolina found herself immediately suspicious.

“What about now?”

Before she even saw what he was doing she found herself draped in her favourite blanket, the only one that hadn’t been used in the construction. She found herself smiling wider, pulling the blanket around herself, and looking across at her brother.

She laughed and looked down when she saw the look on his face, “Oh shut up and come here.”

She held out the side of her blanket, and Wash chuckled. He shuffled over, letting her wrap the blanket around him, and then pulled a face as she ruffled his hair.

“Thank you, David.”

“Any time, sis.”

Mission: ~~Failure~~ _Success_


	14. Poker (SouthCT, MaineWash, Yorkalina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the monthly couples' poker night on the MOI. C.T. and South, Maine and Wash, York and Carolina playing a round or two of team Texas Holdem, betting things like dish duty, mandatory training partners, and dares.

“I… what? _How_?”

“Suck my dick, rookie,” South said, leaning back in her seat with her arms folded and a smirk on her face. She kicked her feet up onto the table, rattling the chips and making the pile of cards slip, “That’s how.”

Wash blinked, “That didn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t have to. We won the hand, again,” South shrugged, her smirk spreading into a grin, “Every time you have a practice session for the next two weeks, you’re up against me.”

Washington groaned, dropping his head into his hands, “I’m going to have bruises on the bruises on my bruises.”

“Sucks for you.”

Wash made a distressed noise that only served to make Connie laugh and South’s grin grow. Across the table York was trying to mask a laugh as a cough, whilst Carolina was rolling her eyes despite the amused look on her face. Even Maine chuckled, though it earned them rather rude sign from Wash.

Monthly Partners’ Poker Night on the _Mother of Invention_ was always an adventure. For one, York had originally dubbed it ‘Monthly Couples Poker Night’ only to be shot down by a very flustered Agent Washington who still insisted that he and Maine weren’t a couple (not that anyone believed him for a moment). Then there was the fact that, rather than betting money, they bet favours or what could only be described as cruel and unusual punishments. Dish duty; mandatory training partners; dares you’d expect of teenagers, not trained soldiers; that sort of thing.

South’s personal favourite was when she dared Washington to do his Director impression within earshot of the man himself.

They had to ban dares surrounding the Director after that. The Counsellor was still fair game, though.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate you all? Because I hate you all. A lot,” Wash said, burying the base of his hands into his eyes. Maine patted him sympathetically on the back.

“You don’t mean that, Wash,” Connie said, sat up on her knees as she dealt, “It’s your turn to pick what we’re betting on by the way. Big blind just passed to you.”

“Oh, right, um,” He scratched the back of his head, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought, “They have to do the others’ AI coursework?”

And so another round began. By the time they’d finished placing bets, the final period of time totalled three weeks. Everyone was still in, and once again, South and Connie came out on top.

“I’m seriously beginning to wonder if it’s a good idea to let them play together,” York said, raising a brow as he dealt, “There’s no way you two should be this good. No one should ever be this good. You’ve gotta be cheating _somehow_.”

“Oh really? Prove it, dickwhistle,” South retorted.

York raised a brow, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, but I did more than that to yours.”

“ _South_ ,” Connie said, clearly _trying_ to sound like she was reprimanding her, but coming across as much too amused for it to be convincing, “Don’t be rude.”

“Everyone play nice. This is meant to be fun,” Carolina said, sitting forward with her arms folded on the table.

“It’s hard to have fun when you always lose,” Wash mumbled. Maine mussed up his hair, and Wash pulled a face, “Maine, one day I’m going to figure out why you love doing that so much.”

The others all exchanged glances. Maine just chuckled, shaking their head.

“It’s hardly our fucking fault that you’re absolutely terrible at cards,” South said, taking their cards and holding her arm out to Connie. Connie sat back in her chair and curled around to nuzzle against her side, South’s arm hooking around her and holding her close, “And don’t pull that ‘I’m only bad at Texas Hold ‘Em!’ bullshit again, because we tried other games. You were just as bad.”

Wash groaned.

“You do have a rather terrible poker face, Wash,” Carolina added. Wash groaned again, “I’m just being honest.”

“I know,” He sighed, sitting back from the table and slumping against Maine. Maine mussed up his hair again, then tucked him against their side. Wash instantly nuzzled against them, relaxing.

“Oh is this becoming a cuddle fest?” York said, looking at the other two pairs and then at Carolina. Carolina rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat and holding her arm out, “Not exactly what I was expecting but I’m down.”

He leant against her side, her fingers laced into his hair. She chuckled.

“I know.”

And for a few brief minutes, all was peaceful in the storage closet near the mercenary bracket agent’s bunks. Until Connie and South won another round, and all hell broke loose once again.


	15. Knowing (MaineWash)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash has a meltdown. Only Maine knows what he needs.

Wash couldn’t even remember what triggered the meltdown. It was all a bit of a blur; all he knew was that he’d ended up on the floor of the locker room with his knees up against his chest and his head spinning. There were multiple pairs of eyes on him, he could feel the weight of them. He didn’t dare open his own eyes.

“Wash…? Are you okay?”

Well that was a bit of a silly question, wasn’t it? The voice made his ears ring, his headache only getting worse. He couldn’t even pinpoint who’d spoken. How many members of his team had seen him like that? It had only been Maine and Carolina before today. Shit.

“Wash? Can you hear us?” He wished they’d shut up, whoever it was, “Wait, Maine, what’re−”

Maine? Oh thank god.

He managed to make himself open his eyes, catching sight of purple and tan and brown figures before his eyes settled on the white-clad figure coming towards him. He looked up as Maine crouched down, unable to muster the energy to speak, but hoping they knew what he was trying to say.

Maine nodded. It was lucky that the two had already removed their armour, he decided, because as soon as Maine’s arms wrapped around him he was able to appreciate the warmth they gave. Enveloped in the familiar hold he was able to start to relax, slowly as it was, and their broad body blocked out any staring eyes.

“Bunk?” Maine grunted, the vibrations hitting Wash in the chest. Wash nodded. The bunk sounded good right about now.

And so he felt himself being lifted up, his head tucked against Maine’s chest and his legs slung over his arm. He could feel himself being carried, and he felt the eyes on him as they left, but right now he didn’t care. He tried to focus just on the warmth of Maine’s hold, and the sound of their heart beating.

When they got back to the room there would be blankets and tight hugs. He would be able to brush his hands over the stubble that covered Maine’s head. He would be able to relax. Maine knew what he needed. And he couldn’t thank them enough for it.


End file.
